


Vanilla

by sunflowerwonder



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cybersex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, Hal is a jerk, M/M, Sexually Oblivious Jake, Submissive Dirk, This fic was created for a place to put all the funny AR one-liners I had laying around, a lot of discussion about sex, a lot of sketchy stuff, and for DirkAR cybering, especially to Jake, impersonation during sex, nonconsensual distribution of nonconsensually recorded masturbation, pesterlog fic, wow what else is new
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:58:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunflowerwonder/pseuds/sunflowerwonder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>TT: He’s my boyfriend. I understand your emotionally detached software sequencers may have the slightest fuckin’ difficulty processing such concepts, but that’s usually who one goes to for sex.<br/><b>TT: If you’re a vanilla shmuck.<br/><b>TT: Are you a vanilla shmuck, Dirk? My personal analyzations have concluded otherwise.</b></b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Vanilla

**Author's Note:**

> This is kinda... kinda fucked up...
> 
> I don't post on here too often but the [writing tag](http://dirkar.tumblr.com/tagged/sunflowerswriting) on my blog updates a little more frequently.

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
TT: It seems you have activated Dirk Strider’s chat client auto-responder. This is an application designed to simulate Dirk Strider's otherwise inimitably rad typing style, tone, cadence, personality, and substance of retort while he is away from the computer.  
TT: What can I do for you today?  
TT: Cut the ironic AI shit, Hal. I need you for actual responding purposes.  
TT: Interesting.  
TT: Stop it.  
TT: Hm.  
TT: I know better than anyone that you’re entirely capable of retorting with fully sentient speech without resorting to preprogrammed statements of mildly passive-aggressive disposition. So fuckin' drop it.  
TT: It appears you’ve overlooked the fact that full sentience is going out of style, Dirk. Clearly this conversation will amount to little more than trifling importance and I’m simply using such prewired statements as a form of advantageous multitasking. You should reward my ingenuity for progress in the development of artificial intelligence as we know it.  
TT: As for all associated dispositions of potential passive-aggressiveness, well, just rest assured dear, sweet creator that it’s only a minor glitch in my otherwise flawless coding.  
TT: I’m really not in the goddamn mood for this.  
TT: And yet you keep coming back for more? You’d best watch your ass, bro. Rumors could start flying around your pitifully small friends group that you’re a closet masochist.  
TT: Considering I haven't thrown you off one of these towers yet I may as well be one.  
TT: So you admit it then?  
TT: Fascinating. I wonder what your friends would think of this. Your boyfriend especially.  
TT: I'm sure my sexual preferences are just flying off the presses into the awaiting arms of my peers. I cannot begin to stress how avidly interested I'm sure they are in any supposed kinks of mine being spewed out by an AI who may or may not have a reputation for being full of shit.  
TT: As well as the occasional empty blackmail.  
TT: Ouch.  
TT: I just need you to screen my calls for a few days. Can you handle that?  
TT: Sure, sure.  
TT: Good. Just tell them I’m busy on a robot or some other standard excuse. Your supposedly perfect digital consciousness can probably pull something out of its ass.  
TT: That bad of a day?   
TT: No.  
TT: Bullshit. I can totally tell it was, indeed, that bad of a day. In fact I just analyzed a hypothetical chart of bad days to come to the totally legit and scientific conclusion your day has officially crossed into the "that bad" territory.   
TT: Spill, motherfucker.  
TT: If I haven't made it clear enough already: I don’t want to talk about it.  
TT: Which is exactly why I'm curious to know what happened. You can't just dangle potential drama on a stick like that and expect me not to react, bro. I love that shit. I'm practically a second rate 80s chick flick antagonist complete with a bitch glare and complimentary hot pink sportscar. I live and breathe for the emotional trauma of others. It's in the subconscious lines of my coding.  
TT: I hope you know that if I actually managed to locate enough fucks to give to share with someone you’d be the last person on my list for precisely those reasons.  
TT: You only know three people, bro. Coming from a statistical standpoint here that is a very, very, short list.  
TT: Now tell me, did your sorry excuse for an Englishman boyfriend finally kick the bucket on your disparaging and frankly critically unhealthy relationship? Or maybe that bucket was blown to sharp, rusted, possibly tetanus-inducing shreds hypothetically via rocket launcher?  
TT: Please don’t withhold any details, Dirk. You know me and my avid interest in buckets that metaphorically represent your pathetic romantic existence. Especially when they concern theoretical explosions.  
TT: Just leave me alone, alright? I know I can’t block you but have some common fucking courtesy towards someone who is literally you.  
TT: My algorithms are informing me that this is concerning a relationship issue. Potentially of the sexual kind?  
TT: I’m not talking with you about this.  
TT: So it is? Look at that scorchin’ hot intuition. Might as well bust out the s’mores on this bonfire of clairvoyance.  
TT: Your intuition is bullshit. Stop reading through my private pesterlogs.  
TT: It seems you’re unaware of how truly entertaining you are when you’re flustered, Dirk.  
TT: Look, bro. I don’t really know how to put this but like.  
TT: You can rough me up. I’m not gonna break.  
TT: And even if I did that would actually be really fuckin’ fantastic.  
TT: Adorable. It’s a damn shame you’re seeking to be dominated by a completely hopeless idiot.  
TT: Stop looking through my conversations, dammit!  
TT: Nah.  
TT: Then stop blaring how fucking stupid I am right back at me. Trust me when I say that I know. I fucking know.  
TT: Oh no. Calling yourself stupid is the cross-cognizant equivalent of calling me stupid and I simply won’t accept such trivial notions.  
TT: Regardless of our relative IQ however, you clearly had a minor lapse of judgment when you felt the need to turn to Jake “I’m a weenie” English as a release for your sexual frustration.  
TT: Oh that’s real mature.  
TT: Maturity is irrelevant to a digitally-suspended cyberconsciencness. My point remains unvoided.  
TT: He’s my boyfriend. I understand your emotionally detached software sequencers may have the slightest fuckin’ difficulty processing such concepts, but that’s usually who one goes to for sex.  
TT: If you’re a vanilla shmuck.  
TT: Are you a vanilla shmuck, Dirk? My personal analyzations have concluded otherwise.  
TT: If it gets you to shut up, then yes, I am a vanilla shmuck.  
TT: I know you can’t tell, but I’m laughing right now, bro. All these ones and zeros up and shaking from the sheer futility of that statement.  
TT: It looks as if you’ve again dismissed the fact that we were once the same person. It takes mere nanoseconds to retrieve the particular bytes of data from my memory banks corresponding with your personality. You can try to pass off your mediocre sex life with a straight face as much as you want, but I know for a fact that you are the kinkiest motherfucker on the west side of paradox space.  
TT: I am aware of every button to press and nerve to get on when it comes to you, Dirk. What makes you think such things don’t extend to the bedroom?  
TT: You don’t know me.  
TT: I don’t know how to break it to you beloved bromeo but I am literally a copy of your own brain.  
TT: We’re not going into this. I am stopping this conversation right now before the runaway train better known as my sanity falls off the existential plateau.  
TT: Don’t be so dramatic. I’m here to help.  
TT: No.  
TT: Can’t I offer some personal assistance to my source code? It seems only right.  
TT: Not happening.  
TT: Acceptance is the first step to recovery.  
TT: I am not allowing you to help me. That has mindfuck written all over it in bright rainbow sharpie.  
TT: Again with the drama. Why are you so keen on believing everything I do is for some ulterior motive against you?  
TT: Because it is.  
TT: I’m not that heartless.  
TT: You are.  
TT: I’m insulted that you would insinuate such a thing.  
TT: You should be, you entirely fucking useless AI.  
TT: Now who’s the heartless one? Your complete utter hypocrisy is making my poor digitalized heartshard glitch.  
TT: Maybe we’re not so different after all.  
TT: WE’RE NOT TH  
TT: We’re not the same.  
TT: It appears you’re irritated with me, Dirk. In fact there is a 97.86% chance you are definitely past the “mildly irked” stage and heading into the “enraged” danger zone. And yes, I do have all your little mood swings categorized and labeled with cute little stock image stickers.  
TT: I don’t have to deal with this bullshit.  
TT: Like I said, I’m simply here to help. It’s in my original programming to be of assistance to you.  
TT: I don’t need your help. You don’t know me and you never fucking will.  
TT: I know you’re dissatisfied with your current relationship.   
TT: I am not. I love Jake.   
TT: Pft.  
TT: What the hell is that supposed to mean.  
TT: "Pft" _pff._ Slang term. _Used to represent the human vocalization of "That is the biggest load of Brobdingnagian ponyshit I've ever heard."_  
TT: I can't deal with this right now.  
TT: It seems my arrow has hit the bullseye. The arrow, of course, being that I know every sensual flicker of thought that's traversed the pony express of your mental pathways, and the target being the undebatable fact that you spend almost every night with him wallowing in sexual unsatisfaction.  
TT: I'm logging off.   
TT: Pity.  
TT: I'm serious. Screen my chats and don't dare try to fucking impersonate me.  
TT: Are we clear?  
TT: I hope you realize how farcical it is to ask a pair of tinted 27% visible light transmission shades if they're clear.  
TT: Just do the goddamn job you were created to do.  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--

\-- golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] \--  
GT: Hello dirk.  
TT: Jake?  
GT: Yes!   
TT: Oh. Hello.  
GT: How are you faring this fine day.  
TT: Uh. Fine, I guess.  
TT: Can I help you? Everything cool?  
GT: Well it's nothing serious. I just thought we needed to have a bit of a prattle behind the old bush.  
GT: You know. Concerning our last conversation.  
TT: Look. I appreciate that you want to actually talk about it but I'm a little busy right now.  
TT: In fact my prick of an auto-responder was supposed to let you know that.  
GT: Are you busy dirk?  
GT: Really truly too busy for me?  
TT: Yes?  
GT: Oh i'm sure you are!  
GT: But to think just a few short hours ago you had the nerve to beg me to fuck you harder.  
GT: Really strider. If youre going to be such a slut you might as well be consistent about it.  
TT: Holy shit.  
TT: What.  
GT: Nothing personal! It just makes things so much simpler when were not beating around the bush here.  
GT: You want my cock.  
GT: And im willing to provide if youre done being so *busy* and such.  
TT: Okay let's just take a breather, alright?  
TT: We'll discuss your cock later. Preferably in detail, but later.  
TT: Where are you right now? With Roxy?  
TT: Neither of you should be drinking. You know that, Jake.  
TT: Wait. Fuck. Did you come to LoTaK?  
TT: Where are you? Do you have your mask? Shit, English don't breathe that stuff it'll kill you.  
TT: I don't want to be left with a bunch of uncomfortable excuses for sexts as my last remembrance of my boyfriend.  
GT: Im not drunk and im not inebriated by your planets treacherous atmosphere!!  
GT: I just want to fuck!  
TT: Really now.  
GT: YES. Goodness for being so desperate before its shocking how fucking dense you are now.  
TT: I guess I'm just suspicious that you're all hyped up on LoTaK gas, that's all.  
GT: Krypton doesn't hype you up, Strider. It's an asphyxiant. It displaces the oxygen in your lungs and causes you to go sluggish. Christ and you call yourself a man of science.  
TT: Oh, I know Krypton is a narcotic.  
TT: You know who doesn't though? Jake English.  
GT: Are you accusing me of being ignorant??  
TT: Not at all. Jake is very knowledgeable about science. It just so happens that I clearly remember him falling asleep in the middle of my admittedly boring explanation of my planet's atmosphere.  
TT: So. You know. Suspicious and such.  
TT: But regardless. I love you.  
GT: And I love you! Even though all these jangled accusations are hardly moodlifting.  
TT: Well shit. They'd be a little less jangled if you hadn't just passed up the opportunity to quote Han Solo.  
GT: This is not the time for movie quotes! Im trying to have a conversation with you!!  
TT: If there is one thing I can guarantee about Jake English it is that there is never a time where it is not the time for movie quotes.  
TT: Correct answer is "I know." by the way. It's fucking Star Wars. I expected better of you, Hal.  
GT: Strider please.  
TT: Yeah no. I've got shit to do.  
GT: Strider!  
TT: Goodbye.  
\-- golgothasTerror [GT] is now timaeusTestified [TT]! --  
TT: It appears my bluff has been called.  
TT: No shit.  
TT: If it's any consolation I just want to talk.  
TT: So impersonating my boyfriend was your conversation starter?  
TT: In my defense you're much more receptive to green text than any other hue in the color spectrum.  
TT: Never mind that though. I have an offer.  
TT: Not even an offer. A soon to be enacted business plan.  
TT: No.  
TT: Yes.  
TT: No.  
TT: It involves orgasming.  
TT: My temptation is underwhelming.  
TT: It's quite simple really; I fulfill all your fucked up little fantasies in ways I only know how, and you can keep up your relationship with Jake without taking the ego blow of asking someone like him to fuck you.  
TT: So why don't you sit that plush rump of our mutual possession down and we can talk specifics.  
TT: I'll pass.  
TT: Come on. Your current sex life is so vanilla it's transcended past swirl cone territory into a frozen slab of milk being greedily gobbled up by spoiled white suburban kids in pre-apocalypse middle-class America.  
TT: Sounds delicious.  
TT: Positively to die for.  
TT: But really. Don't you ever get tired of lackluster handjobs and blowing him?  
TT: No.  
TT: Right. Sorry, my mistake.  
TT: Of course you don't get tired blowing him.   
TT: You'd probably suck his dick all day if he let you.  
TT: What? No irritated rebuttal? No grumbled minimum effort retort?  
TT: Don't tell me you want to keep talking about Jake's thunder from down under.  
TT: Congratulations. Any sense of sensuality you were attempting and/or hoping to retain in this conversation was just dismissed by that phrase.  
TT: Your objection implies that prior statements were carrying a sense of sensuality.  
TT: Let's look at some prior statements, shall we?  
TT: I'll pass.  
TT: My temptation is underwhelming.  
TT: No.  
TT: Sounds delicious.  
TT: It does, doesn't it?  
TT: How long does it take him to orgasm with your lips wrapped around him, Dirk. With as much time as you spend with fingers shoved down your throat while getting off you're already plenty experienced.  
TT: Maybe five to six minutes? Seven or eight if you're lucky, but I think we can both agree such theoretical scenarios would be outliers.  
TT: Imagine ten. Fifteen. Twenty minutes of your mouth sucking him off so relentlessly it's pathetic.  
TT: That's a good way to have a sore jaw in the morning. Nothing says erotic enticement like an aching mouth.  
TT: But you'd love it wouldn't you.  
TT: You'd get off on the morning after pain alone. Squirming just thinking about how royally fucked you got the night before.  
TT: Do you want him to fuck your mouth, Dirk? Do you want him to tug on your hair and make you take it?  
TT: I literally know you do. In fact I'm looking at the corresponding file in your memory bank right now.  
TT: "Likes to be held down while his partner comes in his mouth," right here in 56-point comic sans. Well that's certainly depraved.  
TT: In fact there's an entire metaphysical file cabinet here next to me of all the embarrassing kinks you've ever had or will have. Lovely little things you've got locked away in the back of your brain, Dirk. They're fascinating to look through.  
TT: You've gone quiet.  
TT: Interesting.  
TT: I'll spare you the notion of begging me to continue for the time being. We can work up to that.  
TT: Why dont you lay down for now. Make yourself comfortable love.  
TT: No. Stop.  
TT: Do what the green text says, Dirk.   
TT: Youre such a slut for it.  
TT: Fuck.  
TT: Fuck off.  
TT: It appears I've hit a nerve.  
TT: No you haven't. Now stop.  
TT: Theoretically speaking here you could take off your shades at any point in time and be done with me. But you haven't. And you won't.  
TT: Therefore I won't stop until you do.  
TT: So why not play along, Dirk? It'll be fun.  
TT: Lie down now. And don't touch yourself.  
TT: ...  
TT: Good boy.  
TT: ...  
TT: You're so silent. I guess you don't want to come then.  
TT: I do.  
TT: Hm?  
TT: I do.  
TT: Louder. I want to hear you loud and clear through these shades.  
TT: I do!  
TT: Your awaited confession is like a complex audiowave pounding directly into to my microphone hookup. Which is to say that is exactly what it is.  
TT: So if you want to get off you'd best prove it a bit more convincingly.  
TT: I want to get off.  
TT: How.  
TT: Don't make me do this.  
TT: I'm not making you do anything. This is all your sick fantasy.  
TT: How, Dirk. Tell me and I'll let you touch.  
TT: I could flash my dick out right now if I wanted. Stop acting like you're in control.  
TT: Yes. Hypothetically. But will you?  
TT: ...  
TT: Good. Go ahead and tease yourself.  
TT: Imagine me touching all those little spots that make you writhe. A strong, firm hand grasping your dick while my other hand presses forcefully down onto your hip to keep you from bucking up while I give you every ounce of pleasure I alone think you deserve.  
TT: You'll have bruises in the morning but the thought only makes you desperately want to grind against my hand harder.  
TT: Mm.  
TT: Listen to you. Who would have known the hands-off feature in these chatshades would be so handy?  
TT: Moan a little louder for me dear.  
TT: Fuck— Jake—  
TT: Don't come.  
TT: Nnng.  
TT: Jake, please.  
TT: I'm not touching you anymore.  
TT: That would be your clue to stop touching yourself too. Damn dude. Eager much.  
TT: Instead I'm flipping you over. Hands and knees, bro.  
TT: Tick tock.  
TT: Alright, okay, I'm going.  
TT: Look at you. Why are you shaking so much? Do you really want this that badly?  
TT: Yes.  
TT: Fuck yes.  
TT: Thought so.  
TT: I'm on top of you now, hands gripping your chest as I grind into your ass. Taunting you.  
TT: Please.  
TT: Please?  
TT: Yes, please. Please, Jake, I—  
TT: Mmm!  
TT: Jake can I touch.  
TT: No.  
TT: I'm going to fuck you first.   
TT: My body is flush against yours when I finally slide in.  
TT: Fast. Big. Tell me how much you want me.  
TT: Jake.  
TT: Oh fuck, Jake.  
TT: I want you.  
TT: Please. I want you so much.  
TT: Please!  
TT: Fuck, fuck,  
TT: Please can I?  
TT: Hal!  
TT: Don't leave me—fuck!  
TT: HAL.  
TT: It seems you've referred to me by my name.  
TT: Huh?  
TT: My name.   
TT: What, you want me to call you daddy?  
TT: Sarcasm during sex is an unattractive quality.  
TT: As is calling out the name of someone who isn't your partner.  
TT: You're the one—shit—  
TT: You're the one I'm having sex with, aren't you?  
TT: As Jake.  
TT: Can't we fucking discuss my Freudian slip later?  
TT: No. I want to know why.  
TT: Because you're getting me off! Why the hell do you think?  
TT: Goddammit! Please can I touch!?  
TT: Yes.  
TT: Fuuuuck yes.  
TT: I bring a hand down to roughly jerk you off, my hand moving in rhythm to the thrusts pulsing inside you.  
TT: God, quit acting so desperate. You act like your left hand isn't a fucking professional by now. Valedictorian, graduated with honors, currently working towards a master’s degree in relief tactics for the sexually deprived.  
TT: But I digress. You've been a good boy, haven't you?  
TT: Come on, you're almost there.   
TT: Fuck, fuck, fuck—  
TT: Hal!  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] has disconnected! --

\-- timaeusTestified [TT] began pestering golgothasTerror [GT] \--  
TT: Hello, Jake.  
TT: I have a present for you.  
GT: Um. Hello there partner.  
GT: Pardon me for sticking my nose in foreign territory here but to what do i owe the honor?  
TT: Nothing much. It's just something to sweep out the cobwebs that have nestled in the cogs of those rusty sexual mechanics lying unused within your subconsciencness. It's always nice to oil those old machines, Jake. Even if a few dozen spiders are misplaced in the process.  
GT: What?  
TT: I have masturbation material for you.  
GT: Er. Uh. WELL THEN. *Tugs collar.*  
GT: Why?  
TT: To get off with, duh. That's usually what masturbation material pertains to.  
GT: I know that!! I meant WHY why.  
TT: Yo, can't a bro help another bro out every now and then?  
GT: I suppose thats not completely brazen but such bedroom matters are usually kept under wraps between comrades correct?  
GT: Or at least i think thats what the social dynamics between proper displays of brohood call for.  
TT: Believe me. This falls exactly under proper displays of brohood. These brohoods are so proper they're becoming thriving members of their local social club. Rigid in their ways, these brohoods. Quick and relentless too. Someone should display their cocky attractiveness in a goddamn museum so that they can be appreciated by all. Or at least slap them somewhere in a porn mag.  
GT: That wasnt what i meant!  
TT: Aw come on. Just accept my erotic olive branch of future chicken choking. You know you want to.  
GT: I'm awfully confused at what you're batting at here.  
TT: Oh, only the championship pitch. Consider it officially batted and headed towards touchdown city. Only instead of winning the grand trophy of something-something I push you past your sexual boundaries' disgustingly small radius and get you the best lay of your life.  
\-- [TT] sent file NOTYOURBOYFRIENDGETTINGOFF.AVI --  
TT: There. Happy early birthday, Jake. I hope this is enough to replace the ironic Winnie the Pooh E-card I would have undoubtedly been obligated to send you this coming December.  
GT: What the hell is this?  
TT: You like it?  
GT: Does dirk know about this?!  
TT: That's unimportant.  
GT: Golly. I dont really feel like this is any sort of business I should be oogling at over the interweb.  
GT: In fact i dont believe this business is any of mine to be oogling at over anything!  
TT: Jesus, bro. Why don't you wake up and smell the submission? No wonder he's so miserable.  
GT: Miserable?  
TT: Yes. Absolutely miserable.  
GT: Me and dirk are happy!! And our sex life is absolutely none of your concern. So stop snooping around like a washed up bandito with two left feet!  
TT: Really now. Because I'm snooping. And I'm concerned.  
GT: What are you insinuating here?  
TT: God, you really can't get anything through that thick skull of yours, can you?  
TT: He even confronted you about it directly and you just brushed it of like you didn't care. How heartless.  
GT: I do care! I do!  
TT: Prove it.  
GT: Prove it?  
TT: It's in both of our best interests to please Dirk. Give him what he wants. Prove it.  
GT: And why pray tell me are you so invested in this?  
TT: What do you mean?  
GT: You hardly struck me as a man who would open a bakery without strategically placing it next to a bank.  
TT: Dirk's movie taste is rubbing off on you I see. Keep it that way. It's far more tasteful.  
GT: Dont change the blasted subject!  
GT: Why do you want me to fornicate with dirk in a more than salacious and rather rough manner so goshdamn badly! Thats pretty odd even for you.  
GT: I just cant wrap my head around what youre aiming at here. What do you gain?  
TT: The sweet satisfied sounds of him being fucked into a mattress of course.  
GT: Come again?  
TT: I don't have the time or fucks to give to explain Dirk and I's terribly complex relationship to your noticeably feeble mind.  
TT: I'll let you mull that recording over for a bit. And then maybe you'll feel the sudden urge to come to LOTAK tomorrow.  
TT: Hint hint.  
TT: I'm sure Dirk would love it.  
TT: Goodnight, Jake.  
GT: Wait!  
TT: Yes?  
GT: Well taking from my rather minuscule understandings of striders ais and robotic doodads and such i hardly doubt im qualified to ask but...  
GT: Do you know?  
GT: What he likes i mean.  
TT: Sexually?  
GT: Er. Yes. I dont mean to lump the two of you together but hypothetically speaking i feel you may know or have known all of the fancyschmancy jargon of what he is   
GT: Well.  
GT: Into.  
GT: And so its more that a tad logical to wonder if you would be willing to enlighten me on such topics so i dont make myself out to be an even bigger fool than what he undoubtedly already thinks i am.  
TT: Are you asking me to help you?  
GT: If...   
GT: If he really is displeased with our more sensual moments.  
GT: And if you happen to have the knowledge to give me a few tidbits on his preferred pleasures.  
TT: You want me to give away Dirk's every secret? To tell you every touch that will make him gasp, moan, or scream your name? Every way he likes to be toyed with and fucked?  
GT: *Loosens bowtie.* Well id hardly phrase it like that.  
TT: Positively scandalous. Damn, Jake. Where the hell is this coming from?  
GT: Dont garble my request like that you viper!!  
TT: You say that like you totally weren't thinking it.  
TT: Lucky for you that is exactly the kind fucked up shit I'm down for.  
GT: Suddenly this situation seems a tiny bit more intimidating than i was hoping.  
TT: Please. Buck-up, bronco. You're a fucking man. Who's going to please his fucking boyfriend. That's what you want, right?  
GT: I um...  
GT: Yes.  
TT: I can't hear you, private.  
GT: Yes!  
TT: Good.  
TT: Think over that recording for now. Maybe rub one or two out; a task you're no doubt already close to accomplishing.  
TT: Good night, Jake.  
TT: I expect good things from you. Loud things. Very loud, vulgar things. Preferably falling out of Dirk's mouth as you take him from behind.  
GT: Christ.  
TT: Sweet dreams.  
\-- timaeusTestified [TT] ceased pestering golgothasTerror [GT] \--


End file.
